


Peace Through Violence

by wherethefigslie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherethefigslie/pseuds/wherethefigslie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding.” </p>
<p>When everything's been taken away, what is there left to live for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace Through Violence

No one is quite sure how it happened. There was gunfire, the criminals were eliminated, but when Sherlock turned to congratulate John on his aim the other man was curled up on the ground, very still. Far too still.

Sherlock rushed to his side to see where he'd been hit and John gave a weak cough, flashing him a small smile and a thumbs up. The medics arrived but by the time they'd reached Bart's, John was gone.

Gone.

Sherlock hadn't been able to wrap his head around the word, much less the concept of John not being there any longer.

They'd let him sit with the body for a few hours before Lestrade pulled him gently away, only to be shrugged off violently.

"You should've been there," Sherlock hissed, staring at the floor rather than anyone in particular. "I should've -- "

He was shaking, and Anderson for once turned his back without prompting. No one dared touch him, for fear he might fall to pieces.

Mycroft arrived not too long after to escort Sherlock home, but was pushed past. Sherlock walked the whole way to Baker Street, followed by Mycroft in his car, just in case.

\-----

The next few days pass quietly enough. Lestrade texts half a dozen times to check in and offer help, should Sherlock want it. Mycroft stops by every day to make sure his brother is still functioning. Which he is, but barely. No one can get him to eat, he hasn't slept since what everyone unanimously refers to as The Incident. He hasn't even touched his violin. He simply shifts from room to room like a spectre, staring at the ceiling or pressing his nose against John's chair to try and catch the scent of him.

No one does anything to stop him, thinking it best to let him mourn for a while. He'll snap out of it on his own, mustn't push him.

\-----

A week after The Incident, there's a disturbance at the morgue.

Sherlock had tried to get at John's body for reasons no one can quite discern, nor does any one really want to.

It takes Lestrade and two other officers to haul him off. Lestrade spends the night on the couch in the Baker Street flat, just to make sure Sherlock doesn't go off again.

\-----

A week after that, Sherlock decides to take matters into his own hands. After some scrounging, he comes up with nearly a dozen pain pills left over from various injuries during his and John's career together. That, in addition to his emergency stash of morphine should do nicely.

He curls up in John's bed, tucked under the covers despite being fully dressed, and slowly works his way through everything. The injection first, don't want to do any undue damage, and then the pills, one by one, until he feels numb enough to finally close his eyes and rest.

He's not sure how long he's out before someone slips into bed with him. He sits bolt upright, but relaxes when he sees it's only John.

_John._

Sherlock buries his face against John's stupid, ridiculous oatmeal jumper and finally lets himself break. Two weeks' worth of sobbing, two weeks of pent up anger and sorrow and pain pours out until he can't cry anymore.

John strokes his hair the entire time, gentle fingers running up and down Sherlock's back to sooth him.

"But how -- "

"Just rest," John murmurs, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "We'll talk about it in the morning. I'm not leaving, I promise."

Sherlock smiles so widely his face feels about to crack. He winds his long limbs around John and clings tight, determined never to let this man out of his sight again.

Tangled together like that, Sherlock drifts off again.

\-----

The next morning, Lestrade receives a call from a distraught Mrs. Hudson and rushes over. An hour later, he and Mycroft are standing beside John's bed, staring down at Sherlock's still form. Too still.

Lestrade is the first to turn away, rubbing a hand over his face. "I thought you had some sort of watch on him. You've stopped this sort've thing before, yeah? You were the one to call me about the cocaine overdose."

"Mm." Mycroft's face is calm, unreadable as he studies his brother's inert form. "It was for the best."

"For the best? Christ, you're his brother. You could've saved him!"

"This time, I'm afraid, he didn't want any saving."

This doesn't sit well with Lestrade. He glances over his shoulder at Sherlock, clutching a pillow, a faint smile still on his face. "I can't believe that. We should've done something."

Mycroft shakes his head, "He's at peace, surely you can see that. That's more than we could have said for him while he was alive."


End file.
